My Blue Hair And Me
by Little Ucchan
Summary: There are days when I'd rather wear Strata's helmet than show my true hair color.' Oneshot. A POV piece on what it means to be inbetween cultures.


I had to write this piece. Though telling it from a Ronin's POV is not the outlook I wanted to take, I felt the subject matter is similar, and guys are not less susceptible to this sort of social division than girls are. Also, I apologize for those who are of Japanese descent or have lived or are currently living in the country that would know more about the social structures than I could ever portray them. But I hope the works' meaning gets conveyed regardless of the discrepancies in my writing. Thank you.

_"My Blue Hair And Me"  
_By: Little Ucchan

People look at my blue hair and stare. They've always had.

I was spared the kind of devil talk Sage had received when I was young. Possibly because the running joke of my father accidentally contaminating his genes in the bio lab before I was born was so hilarious among his colleagues, that people were willing to overlook my blue hair. The rumor was welded into place when I had proven to be a genius at the tentative age of three.

But that doesn't stop strangers from staring, or passersby from whispering as I walk by, now 22 and well aware of the type of talk that my appearance stirs. In a way, me and my best friend share a lot in common. But while he gets the crap about being an American and a taboo child, the devil in human guise for his blonde hair and lavender eyes, I'm labeled a rabble-rouser. A full blooded Japanese who has no appreciation for his roots. A turncoat, an anarchist. A member of the youth culture that divides the streets of Tokyo between the old and the new, the haves that are spoiled, and the have-nots who cling to tradition. In a way, I might be the worse off of the two of us.

Not to make light of Sage's situation with racism, but they attack his looks, or even take the angle of 'poor child, he's mixed blood,' sort of thing. Or even mistake him as a foreigner all together!

I don't even get that sympathy. Blue hair is not a genetic defect. It's a statement. A choice. At least, according to them. I chose my side, so they have every right to talk about me, to point out what I represent and frown, to treat me like I'm some kind of hoodlum out for their money, because that's what they see me as; a threat to their livelihood.

I'm not. Sometimes I wish I was. If I actually believed in the cultural revolution in my country, then I'd have more confidence when I walked the streets. But I don't. I don't do the spiked hair or the body piercing, the fashion tribes, or the outlandish accessories. I don't ditch school because I'm tired of the demands of the system. I'm a Tokyo U graduate for God's sake! It's not who I am. But it doesn't protect me from being criticized.

On occasion, I come in direct contact with my 'kind' out on the streets. They do some greeting that is alien to me, laughing and at ease, and ask where I get my hair colored. The instant I open my mouth, they know I am not one of them. Maybe it's because I don't have a lightning rod through my tongue. And here I thought the sweatshirt with the words 'Tokyo U Alumni' _emblazoned_ across my chest would have given it away. They sneer at me, saying I'm a 'grandpa hiding in punk clothes' and leave. I wasn't even aware I had an identity crisis.

Surprisingly, I'm more Japanese than anyone would like to believe of me. Loving science and new ideas, ironically enough, _doesn't_ make me a rebel. I like tea ceremonies, and temple worship. I love our history; lived and breathed it as a Ronin Warrior. Even World War II I cannot help but study over and over. I am Japanese, through and through.

But who I am, oppose to who people think I am, doesn't seem to matter. I guess the rest of my country knows more about me than I could ever know about myself. Living my life every day doesn't seem to count for any credibility.

So I believe in having an opinion and seeing that it is heard. So I am not strictly a fundamentalist or a rebel. Aren't there people in between? I'm fairly certain that the entire populous of Japan hasn't been divided strictly between black and white lines.

In-betweens do exist. They're called 'normals.' And they have a luxury that I do not. They're invisible.

They can have their opinions and not be bothered. They can walk the streets and not worry about being stopped or stared at. They speak their mind in the right company and choose to hide their deep rooted sentiments in the next. They can hide behind their unassuming face, their features that blend with the crowd. Oppose to me, who walks into a war zone every time I need to pick up soy sauce.

"Choose a side," they tell me. I can pick neither. Even if I did, they'd know I was lying. If I claimed to be neutral, they'd both jump me. I cannot be undeclared sporting blue hair and a university degree. But I can neither change the looks I was born with nor the person I have become. And I don't I want to.

So to all those who can't see beyond the black and white spots that blind their looking glass, I give you the middle finger salute.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  
Obviously I'm studying Asian American studies, for fun, as it seems any educational endeavor I do isonly during my leisure, and people actually _ask_ me why I bother to study when I'm going to draw for a living. And I'm going to tell those people a little revelation that I came across. And that's "In the absence of not having to do something, you want to do it. And it's not wrong. So shut your mouth."

I've been having 'issues' along the line of this sort for a while now, and lucky for me, I'm no longer getting depressed and quiet about it. I'm getting LOUD. Which means I'm writing more. Which means, yes Panthera, I've been hitting my page a day fanfic quota. I can actually say with confidence that there's going to be a new chapter of RWU within the next two weeks. As long as I am reminded of my quota.

BTW, I love Rowen in this. Perfect voice for us normals who can't hide our abnormality.


End file.
